


Right Here

by anvanell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Stydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anvanell/pseuds/anvanell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Scott and Stiles and everyone else may have turned out fine after the outbreak hit the high school on Saturday, but the phrase "biological warfare" was enough to scare the CDC, enough to get Mrs. McCall feeling protective over all of them, enough to make sure everyone who was on campus that day was spending at least a couple nights at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. And they all needed it, if only for a safe place to rest up and try to forget what happened. Originally, Lydia came today to visit her mom. Scott's mom had been surprised when she said that she wanted to visit Stiles, too."</p>
<p>Post-Weaponized: Lydia visits Stiles at the hospital. Angst and hurt/comfort ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing an actual fic, so be nice ^.^
> 
> Obviously, I don't own Teen Wolf, or any of the characters featured here. If I did, Stiles and Lydia would be together by now.

He looks smaller when he's asleep, Lydia decides. Lying on the hospital bed in a godawful blue smock, his breaths are deep and measured and he looks, not like the gangly sarcastic genius with the spiky brown hair she knows him to be, but like a small child. Innocent, somehow. His eyes are closed. She's suddenly, vividly glad that he can sleep like this again.

She remembers how he looked on Saturday afternoon when he stepped out of the school, his face gaunt, covered in dried blood.

Scott's mom enters the room, gently opening the door and carrying a tray of food, which she lies on a table across the room. Lydia knows she's just come back from checking on her son. Scott and Stiles and everyone else may have turned out fine after the outbreak hit the high school on Saturday, but the phrase "biological warfare" was enough to scare the CDC, enough to get Mrs. McCall feeling protective over all of them, enough to make sure everyone who was on campus that day was spending at least a couple nights at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. And they all needed it, if only for a safe place to rest up and try to forget what happened. Originally, Lydia came today to visit her mom. Scott's mom had been surprised when she said that she wanted to visit Stiles, too.

"He still out cold?" Melissa asks now, eyes creased with worry but a look in her eyes that tells Lydia that she, too, is happy to see Stiles sleeping okay. Lydia nods, but doesn't take her eyes off of him. He may look innocent, but he also looks fragile.

"Well," she continues, "I've brought him some lunch. The food here sucks, but he should eat when he wakes up. Did you want to head out?"

Lydia takes a deep breath. "Actually, do you think I could...stay a little longer? I'll let him sleep."

Mrs. McCall nods. "Of course, Lydia. Just don't wake him up. He needs his rest."

"Of course."

"Alright," sighs Melissa, "I unfortunately have a date with some bedpans. Call me if he needs anything, okay? And be quiet when you do decide to leave."

Lydia nods, knowing that won't be a problem. With all her friends either hospitalized or gone where she can't get to them, her plans for the weekend are pretty much blown.

It's not long after Melissa leaves that he starts to stir. His eyelids twitching, Stiles begins to sit up, yawning and stretching.

"What--" he stutters, realizing where he is, a twinge of panic clouding his hazel eyes, "what's going on--"

"Hey, Stiles," Lydia says slowly, coming closer and sitting by the side of the bed. "It's okay. You're in the hospital. The outbreak at the school, remember? You're okay. Everyone's okay."

Stiles softens, relaxes when he sees her. "Lydia," he murmurs. "What are you doing here?"

Lydia gives him a look. "My mom and all of my friends are here," she reminds him. "I'm visiting."

Stiles smiles a little, at the corner of his mouth. "And you'd visit me?"

She shrugs. "Why not?"

He leans back on the pillows, that little smile floating on his face for a moment, not saying anything. Lydia stands up, picks up the tray that Mrs. McCall left behind.

"Scott's mom brought you some lunch," she tells him over her shoulder, examining the wilting salad and sad-looking slices of what could maybe be chicken on the plate. "It...seems like quite the experience."

"No, thanks," he replies. "I'm not hungry."

She turns around, noticing his voice has gone quieter, more serious. He's staring at the ceiling with a distant look in his eyes.

"I hate hospitals," he tells her, his voice low.

"Why?" she asks. "Is it the..." Nogitsune, possession, MRIs, _dementia_... "stuff from before?"

Surprisingly, Stiles shakes his head. "No," he answers her. "It's not just that."

He meets her eyes; she knows they're full of questions. Stiles sighs.

"When I was a kid," he tells her, his eyes now downcast, staring at the tiles on the floor, "my mom got really sick. She...she died here a few years ago."

Lydia is silent. She remembers hearing about this; Beacon Hills is a small town, and in a small town, word of a death travels fast. Her own mother sent the Stilinskis a gift basket full of baked goods when the news broke out.

"There are only so many times," Stiles continues, and his voice cracks, "only so many times you can see one of your parents in a hospital bed. It's--it's just--"

He starts to cry a little, then, and she can tell he's just overcome with it all, tired and stressed from the harrowing day at the school, from the deadpool, the assassins, from _everything_. He lets out short, quiet sobs that nonetheless rack his skinny body, so that he's shaking there on the bed, trying to look away so that she doesn't see him. Furiously, he wipes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, "I'm being stupid, I'm sorry..."

Lydia gives him a moment, then lays a hand on his right shoulder and another on the side of his face, turning him to face her. Gently, she strokes his cheek, wiping a few tears away.

"Hey," she says softly, "hey, Stiles. You're here to recover, okay? You're here to heal. Don't think about that right now. Think about something happy. Think about..." she struggles to think of something, "your friends, your dad..."

She clears her throat. "Malia..."

Violently, Stiles shakes his head. "No, no, I can't think about her right now. I can't."

And Lydia decides not to ask, decides that when Stiles has gotten some rest and feels better and he wants to tell her what's going on he can, but she can't think of anything else to say so she fumbles a little and takes a chance and says, "Then...then think about me."

Stiles raises his eyebrows, but he eventually relaxes, lying back down onto the pillows and closing his eyelids for a brief second. He takes a deep breath. For the first time, Lydia notices there are bags under his eyes.

"Hey, Stiles?" she says after a moment. He opens his eyes and looks at her.

"Yeah?"

"You should get a little more rest, okay? You look exhausted."

"Yeah, okay." His eyebrows crease. "Are you gonna leave?"

"Don't worry," she smiles a little. "I'm just going to go check on Scott and Kira to see how they're doing, and then I'll grab a shitty coffee from the cafeteria, and I'll come right back here. Okay?"

Stiles nods, already beginning to fall asleep.

"See you soon," Lydia whispers. She picks up her purse and steps out the door. In the hallway, she stops and closes it, leaning her head against the dark wood. She closes her eyes.

She can hear Stiles faintly through the door, snoring a little in his sleep. She knows he's okay. And, ever so slightly, she smiles.

  
****


End file.
